


Dough-Filled Hearts

by 5a5b5p5



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew owns a bakery, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Fluff, M/M, No smut this time sorry, bakery au!, just love, mentions of Andrew’s scars, neil owns a cat cafe, self love talks with bee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5a5b5p5/pseuds/5a5b5p5
Summary: Andrew is perfectly fine with the state of his life as it is, rolling dough and baking bread. He doesn’t need some pretty boy with secrets and a coffee shop to come and stir things up.Or: Andrew owns a coffee shop, Neil owns a cat café, and Bee talks about soup.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 75
Kudos: 441





	Dough-Filled Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Bakery au bakery au bakery au

Every day, Andrew Minyard wakes up at five in the goddamned morning to make bread. 

It’s not like he _has_ to wake up so early anymore really, since he technically owns Bee’s bakery now, but once a routine is set, it is difficult to break out of that monotony. 

Besides—if Andrew opened the shop any later, he would miss the sight of the hot owner of the coffee shop across the street departing for his morning run. 

In the small town of Palmetto, the inhabitants tend to bite at any and every sign of newness, so when Neil Josten had popped into it out of nowhere, bought an empty building the day he arrived, and seemingly hadn’t left it until the opening of his new coffee shop, the town had collectively lost its mind. 

Even Andrew himself had been annoyingly curious about the newcomer's antics, watching from afar but never engaging. The few other citizens of Palmetto had been less prudent, gathering around the outside of Josten’s building to watch him work tirelessly through the large windows. A few of the more bold people had tried to knock on the door of Josten’s shop to ask if the man wanted help, but they had all been shot down by a harsh glare and shooed away. 

During that month or so, the only times Andrew had seen Josten come and go were for his morning runs, when he and Andrew were seemingly the only ones awake. 

Eventually, Josten had opened his coffee shop, and the entire town had seemed to flock to it, desperate for information on the newcomer and coffee that they didn’t have to leave town for. Andrew’s shop had thrived as a direct correlation ever since because of the sudden traffic in their little pocket of the street, but Andrew refused to thank Josten for that even in his head. 

In addition to the constant reminders of Andrew’s new neighbor in the form of tiny running shorts and a flashy neon _open_ sign, Andrew couldn’t seem to be rid of him away from the shops either. All of the annoying individuals who for some reason thought they were friends with Andrew continuously relay information about Josten back to him, despite the fact that he’s never asked about the man once. Even Bee, the old woman who had passed the bakery onto Andrew, talked about Josten when she came by for their weekly hot chocolate sessions. 

Truth be told, to say that Neil Josten had caused a stir in Palmetto upon his arrival would be an absurd understatement.

Even with that being said, though, Andrew thinks that the town should have gotten over him by now at least, considering he’d been settled down and open for business for over a month now. Instead, while most of the buzz has died down, all of Andrew’s idiotic associates seem to have fallen in love with the man. 

For example, ever since Andrew can remember working at the bakery, Matt Boyd has always come by the shop once a week to order bread for himself and his girlfriend Dan, but ever since Josten’s arrival, Matt has been tagging an extra half a loaf onto his order. Even Allison Reynolds and Renee Walker take Josten a scone or two after their Saturday afternoon cinnamon roll dates, which Andrew classifies as a betrayal from Renee and an annoyance from Allison. Renee just shrugs whenever confronted about it, much to Andrew’s disapproval.

The way Andrew sees the Josten situation is much more suspecting, but unfortunately just as curious. Neil Josten is annoying and unavoidable, but worst of all, he’s interesting. The man had shown up seemingly out of thin air, quite literally scarred from head to toe, and created a successful business in less than one month, all while managing to somehow steal the hearts of the townspeople along the way. 

Andrew thinks he’s probably the only person within a 15-mile radius who has never spoken to Neil Josten, and he plans to keep it that way for as long as possible, preferably infinitely. 

Andrew is perfectly fine with the state of his life as it is, rolling dough and baking bread, continuing on the legacy of Betsy Dobson, who had given Andrew a job and a place to stay after catching him staring longingly at the display case at the front of the shop when he was just 16. She had given Andrew the tiny apartment above the shop, where he has lived since then, and she had helped him find his family— a twin brother who visited when he could and called when he couldn’t, as well as a cousin who lived in Germany and talked far too much. Andrew will always owe everything to Bee.

The point, however, is that Andrew finally has a life for himself here, and unlike the others, he doesn’t need some pretty boy with secrets and a coffee shop to come and stir things up. 

Later that day, after closing the shop, when Bee comes by with to-go cups of hot chocolate from Neil’s café, Andrew tells her just that.

Bee just smiles at Andrew in that curious way she always does and asks him, “When’s the last time you’ve stirred the pot, Andrew?”

“It’s not a soup, Bee, it’s my life.”

“One can argue that those two things are similar in this sense, though. If your life _is_ the soup, then surely everything would have sunk to the bottom by now. A good stir never hurt anybody.”

Andrew is silent for a while after that, sipping his hot chocolate and glaring when Bee quite pointedly uses the little coffee stick to stir her drink. 

Andrew scoffs at Bee’s antics. “Besides,” she starts again, “maybe something good will make its way to the surface.”

“I don’t deserve much of anything good,” Andrew tells her, despite knowing that she will frown at him in disapproval for that comment. 

As suspected, a crease appears between Bee’s eyebrows as she frowns, but she doesn’t comment on it, presumably knowing that Andrew would only refute her argument. 

It’s the truth though. Andrew hadn’t deserved Bee’s kindness when she’d given him something to live for, hadn’t deserved Renee’s friendship when he had been nothing but rude to her for months at first. He _certainly_ doesn’t deserve some pretty stranger's interest. 

Now that he’s thinking of the man again, begrudgingly, Andrew allows himself to glance across the narrow street, watching Josten wipe down tables and put up chairs. Just before Andrew can look away, Josten’s head snaps up to meet Andrew’s stare head-on, and the man quirks his head to the side slightly, raising a tentative hand in a shy wave. 

Before Andrew can stop himself, he’s raising a hand as well, and he watches raptly as Josten’s scarred face breaks out in a small smile, ducking his head. 

When Andrew finally looks back to Bee, she’s giving him a knowing look, still stirring her hot chocolate conspiringly. 

As he watches the light to the coffee shop turn off, another light flickering on up on the second floor shortly after, Andrew can’t but think Bee could be right. 

~

Because Andrew is still getting used to using soup as a metaphor for his life, and because he is also extremely stubborn, he still doesn’t talk to Josten for a few days after his and Bee’s talk. 

That quickly changes though, because one morning shortly after that talk, Andrew hears the annoying bell above the door chime while he’s quite literally elbow-deep in a sourdough. 

Nobody ever comes in this early on a weekend. Nobody ever _wakes up_ this early on a weekend except for— unfortunately— Andrew, and one other man, so he knows exactly who the customer must be before Andrew even walks out of the kitchen. 

He quickly uses the dough scraper to rid his hands of the sticky substance, flouring his hands and then wiping them on his apron as he exits the kitchen. 

As predicted, Neil Josten is standing at Andrew’s counter, clad in a bright orange pair of running shorts and a plain white t-shirt, skin shining slightly with sweat. 

After looking him over, Andrew can see that Neil is completely out of his depth, standing in front of the display case and wringing his hands in front of him. Because Andrew is an asshole, and because Josten is strangely attractive when he looks like he has no idea what he’s doing, instead of offering assistance he just asks, “What can I get you?”

Neil pushes past his obvious uncertainty to state, “I would like… one… bread.”

“One bread.”

“Yes.”

Andrew sighs to himself, trying to convince himself that Neil’s stupidity is _not,_ in fact, attractive, and asks, “What kind of bread? We have many.”

That panicked look is back, and had they been discussing quite literally anything other than bread, Andrew might have taken pity on him. “I like the one Matt gets for me,” Neil explains haltingly, “It’s crunchy on the outside.”

“You want sourdough bread,” Andrew tells him. 

Neil nods, relieved, “Yes. That.”

Andrew nods back at him, just to have something to do. “I just finished making the first batch of sourdough. It hasn’t cooled yet.”

“Oh… could you just drop it off when it’s done then?”

“I don’t deliver.”

“I live… literally right across the street?” 

Andrew sighs again— this is the most he’s spoken to a human in a few days. “Hang on,” he tells Neil, disappearing back into the kitchen, quickly pulling out a sourdough loaf from a cooling rack and placing it directly in a box despite it being blisteringly hot.

Neil takes the box when Andrew hands it to him, wincing at the temperature of it and then placing it on the counter. 

After paying, Neil stops at the exit, turning back around to face Andrew despite the burning breadbox in his hands. “Thank you,” he says, before quite literally running back to his shop, and Andrew watches him through the window as he cuts the bread and eats a molten slice plain like a lunatic. 

Andrew sighs when he gets back to the kitchen to find the dough he’d been kneading had completely deflated, and he curses Neil Josten for costing him a loaf. 

The rest of the morning is boring, and after making a few sales Andrew closes up for his lunch break, which is something he usually wouldn’t do. Another thing he usually wouldn’t do is walk across the street to Josten’s shop with his wrapped sandwich in hand. 

Neil looks up when Andrew enters the shop. There’s only one other customer besides him and they’re already seated, so Andrew goes straight up to the front counter, “I would like one drink,” Andrew tells Neil, because he’s petty like that. 

Neil, for his part, only smiles in response, “We have many drinks.”

“Then I would like one hot chocolate.”

Neil wrinkles his nose in distaste, which is a red flag if Andrew’s ever seen one. Who doesn’t like hot chocolate? Andrew picks the size of the drink he wants and raises an unimpressed eyebrow when Neil pulls out a sharpie and asks, “Name?”

“I find it very hard to believe you don’t know my name. I’m also the only person here who still needs a drink.”

Neil shakes his head stubbornly, “Everyone calls you Minyard! I doubt that’s your first name.”

“You don’t know that.”

Neil stomps his foot childishly, but he’s smiling, “Name!”

“Andrew.”

_ Andrew,  _ Neil mouths as he scribbles something on the cup that definitely does not look like his name. turning around to get started on the drink.

Andrew watches Neil work behind the counter, steaming milk and adding a mix of hot chocolate powder that Andrew suspects is homemade. Finally, he sticks a coffee stir into the little drink hole and slides it across the counter. 

“Hot chocolate for Andrew?” Neil asks cheekily, tongue popping out to slide against his lower lip. 

Andrew just picks up his cup, glancing distastefully at the name scribbled onto the cup. There, in the messiest handwriting Andrew’s ever seen, is simply the word _bread._

“That’s not my name,” Andrew tells Neil needlessly. 

Neil ignores that statement, “The bread was good.”

“It’s the same bread Matt’s been getting you for weeks.”

Neil nods down to Andrew’s hot chocolate, “And that’s the same hot chocolate Betsy’s been getting _you_ for weeks. That doesn’t mean it’s not good, does it?”

_ Smartass,  _ Andrew thinks, giving Josten a glare overtop his drink, trying to not let his enjoyment show on his face. It really is good hot chocolate. 

At that moment, an orange cat jumps up onto the counter, startling Andrew hard enough to jostle the liquid in his cup. The cat sits in front of Andrew on the counter, mewing softly and staring at him intently with large eyes. 

Neil doesn’t even blink at the presence of the cat, reaching out a hand to pet it from head to tail, and it’s then that Andrew looks around and realizes that there are _many_ cats around the café. At least five. 

Andrew is at a loss for words. Why does this pretty man with scars and obvious secrets own a goddamned _cat café?_

“This is a cat café,” Andrew deadpans.

Neil looks up distractedly from the orange cat. “It didn’t use to be,” he begins haltingly, “but one day I found two kittens in a box on my run and took them back here. Since then I’ve just been taking in all the strays I find.” Neil scratches at the cat's head, and it purrs so loudly that Andrew swears he feels the ground rumble. “Most of them get adopted officially from here, and they have a room in the back until they do. The first two kittens I rescued are mine.”

The orange cat turns back to Andrew, mewing at him pointedly until he reaches out a hand to pet it. Neil chuckles in front of him, jumping up to sit on the counter, and Andrew has to drag his eyes away because now Josten’s ass is within touching distance, which is extremely dangerous. 

The orange cat drags its face across Andrew’s knuckles, practically petting itself. Neil chuckles again and tells Andrew “Her name is King. She’s one of the first two I brought in. She loves attention— her brother Sir does not.” Neil reaches down to his feet and resurfaces with an enormous grey cat that he dangles from its armpits.

Andrew stares at the cat— Sir, and the large grey blob mews at him loudly, squirming out of Neil’s grip and sidling up to Andrew, placing a large paw on his hand, demanding pets. 

Andrew pets the cat, because he’s not _actually_ a monster, and Sir purrs loudly. Neil quirks his head to the side, “Sir is usually pretty hostile toward strangers,” he explains, “he must like you.”

Sir places his paw on Andrew’s chest, standing up on his back legs and mewing in his face. Andrew looks back down at the animal, running a hand through the fluffy grey fur on his back, looking into the cat's large eyes. Sir mews again. 

“What,” Andrew asks the cat.

“Mew.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

In front of him, Neil laughs quietly, still sitting on the counter petting King, “He wants to climb on your shoulders I think,” he explains.

Andrew looks back to Sir, “Is that true?”

In response, Sir launches his enormous fluffy body off the counter and lands heavily on Andrew’s shoulder. His thin claws dig into his skin through his shirt and Andrew has to fight the urge to wince against the sharp pain until the cat is settled, draped across his shoulders like a fur scarf. 

“Be careful,” Neil warns him, “once he gets settled there he’s like a leech. One day I worked for a day straight with him on my shoulders. Had to go see the chiropractor after.”

Sir mews at him and Neil reaches out and pets his head. “He’s a good boy though,” Neil assures, “you should have met Madam when she was with us. I think a got a few new scars from her.”

“Do all the cats have royal names?”

Neil hums, “Not all of them. I let Matt and the others name all the new strays. Allison was responsible for the royal names.” He points around the room at each individual cat, naming them off. “There’s Galileo, Mrs. Claws, Kryptonite, and Pumpkin.” Neil looks around a little bit, before finally spotting two green glowing eyes from inside a cat tree, “And that’s Kevin.”

“Kevin.”

“Yes. Can you guess who named her?”

“He’s never been very creative.”

The sound of Neil’s soft laugh fills Andrew’s ears once again, and then suddenly Neil is sliding off the counter with an apologetic smile, walking over to the front counter to take a man’s order. It’s then that Andrew finally checks the time, and he’s startled to find that it’s been over an hour already. His sandwich remains uneaten and his hot chocolate has turned lukewarm. 

As Neil turns to start making a drink, Andrew downs his own quickly, gently pushing Sir off his shoulders and rolling his neck so he can remember what it feels like to not have a twenty-pound cat on him.

Sir jumps right back down to Neil’s feet, joining King as they do their best to trip up their owner while he works with molten liquids. Neil smiles down at them, then up at Andrew, and the sight of it is so jarring that Andrew has to look away immediately. Neil’s bright blue eyes are simply too much to look at head-on, and they’re so damn _sincere_ and _warm_. His dark auburn hair falls in coils over his high cheekbones as he fixes his customer’s drink, despite being tied up by an obnoxious pink bandana. Neil’s skin is the same color as Andrew’s creamy hot chocolate, threaded through with silver scars like streaks of cream and sugar. 

Neil stirs the drink he’s made one last time, and Andrew’s insides move and writhe with the swirl of the coffee. 

_ Stir, stir, stir. _

_ ~ _

For the next few weeks, Andrew begins to see Neil everywhere. He’s running back into his shop in the morning as Andrew turns the sign to open, just as he always is, but now he’s also at the gym, at the grocery store, at Renee’s gelato shop ordering something fruity and bland.

Additionally, Andrew begins to see him at the bakery. Ever since that first day, Neil has been buying his own bread, and he seems to have also found something sweeter that he enjoys in the form of the raspberry and cream cheese flavored scones Andrew makes every so often. 

In general, Neil Josten is a mess of a human being, tied and folded over sloppily, and Andrew can’t help but wish to unravel him. 

Andrew, despite his best efforts, does go back to the cat café. Now that he’s broken his stubborn streak of staying away from Josten, he’s in no position to deny himself the wonderful hot chocolate Neil sells for a reasonable price. Also, while he will never admit it, Andrew has taken a liking to the cats. Sir especially seems to like him, and Andrew can’t help but be amused whenever the enormous cat climbs up onto his shoulders as if he’s the size of a tiny kitten. 

About a month after their first meeting, Andrew jolts awake in the middle of the night after being plagued by a now-rare nightmare. His first instinct is to reach for his phone and call Bee to calm him down, or maybe Aaron to make sure he’s okay. Andrew knows that neither of them would be upset by his impromptu call, but he really doesn’t want to bother them, so he makes his way down the creaky stairs, passing through the kitchen and the front of the shop. 

The humid night air of South Carolina caresses his skin, and he breathes it in deeply in the same way he would have cigarette smoke. In times like these he wishes for a pack, but he’d never really gotten the chance to become fully addicted to the nicotine before Bee had scolded him for the habit like a worried mother. 

Instead, he plops himself down on the condensation-slick bench in front of the bakery, feeling the warm water seep through his threadbare sweatpants, leaning back so he can feel it through his tank top as well. 

Andrew sits there for a while, thinking about and staring at nothing in particular until his eyes focus once again at the sight of a familiar figure walking towards him across the street. Neil is dressed for a run, but it isn’t even nearly sunrise, though Andrew has lost track of the time. Neil stops when he’s in front of Andrew, “Can I?” he asks, gesturing to the bench.

Andrew nods, not quite ready to speak yet. 

Neil sits down beside him, and Andrew can feel his bright eyes watching him, taking in his appearance. It’s only after a few minutes of silence that Neil breaks it with a soft, surprised, “Oh.”

It’s enough of a prompt to get Andrew to glance at the man, and he tracks his line of sight, tensing when he realizes that Neil is looking at his arms. In his haste to get outside, Andrew had forgotten his armbands, and the silvery pink crosshatch of scars is stark under the streetlights and moonglow. 

Andrew tenses slightly, but Neil is already looking away, eyes focused on the glowing _closed_ sign on his café storefront. Haltingly, Neil tells him, “My father gave me most of these scars. The rest are from a life on the run. WITSEC set me up here. Liking it so far.”

It’s enough to have Andrew cutting a glance back at him, but Neil is still staring across the street. Andrew doesn’t tell Neil that he doesn’t want to hear his life story, because that would be a lie. In fact, Andrew doesn’t say anything at all for a few moments, letting the weight of Neil’s truth rest in the space between them undisturbed like fresh snow. In his head, Andrew weighs their secrets, deciding how much more to give Neil. In the end, all he says is, “I was in foster care until I was sixteen and none of them were good, so I ran away. Ended up here. Bee took me in and helped me find my family.” Andrew pauses. “I like it here so far, too.”

Neil hums, and they sit in silence until the sun begins to rise and Neil goes back inside to feed the cats. Only when Neil comes back out and takes off for his run does Andrew walk back into the bakery, not bothering to flip the sign to _open,_ bypassing the kitchen entirely and flopping back down on his bed, where he scarcely moves for the rest of the day.

~

Kevin Day is the bane of Andrew’s existence for many reasons and has been for as long as they’ve known each other. 

Kevin works with his father, Wymack, who owns the Palmetto gym. Ever since Andrew had first begun to frequent the small gym as a teenager, Kevin had basically forced himself into the position of Andrew’s trainer, despite not being either asked or paid. This essentially means that when Andrew comes into the gym after work, Kevin takes it upon himself to judge Andrew’s weightlifting technique and try to bully him into cardio and a diet plan. Andrew maintains the opinion that Kevin is just jealous of Andrew’s biceps and metabolism. 

The point is that, to Kevin Day, annoying Andrew is basically a job, and recently it’s as if Kevin has been working overtime, and it’s all Neil Josten’s fault.

Ever since Neil arrived, Kevin and he had got on like a house on fire. Neil tolerates Kevin about as much as Andrew does, but somehow he’d been bullied into friendship the same as Andrew had been. Kevin was constantly trying to get Andrew to join his and Neil’s HIIT classes.

At first, Andrew had been convinced that Kevin had _actually_ fallen in love with Neil, but it turns out that he’d just fallen for Neil’s athleticism, though Andrew wouldn’t be surprised if the latter had led to the former. He’d seen the look on Kevin’s face the first time he’d seen Neil run at full speed, and he still had trouble removing that image from his mind. 

Andrew shakes his head, removing himself from his thoughts and tuning back into Kevin’s rant. The man in question is currently sitting on a counter in the back kitchen of Andrew’s bakery, Neil standing a little ways back, shaking his head in amusement at Kevin’s antics. They’re both dressed in workout clothes and clutching duffle bags, and Neil keeps clearing his throat and reminding Kevin of the time.

“—all I’m saying,” Kevin continues, “is that if you joined our class and ate less empty calories you could tone up your stomach in a few weeks!”

Andrew meets Neil’s gaze behind Kevin, and Neil rolls his eyes. It’s been about a month since that first day, and since then, Neil and Andrew have been visiting each other on their lunch breaks on most days. It’s… nice, to have someone new to talk to, which is something Andrew never thought he would think, but Neil is definitely interesting enough.

In the last few weeks, they’ve shared mostly idle conversation, and they haven’t talked at all outside of each other’s work hours aside from the night on the bench, but the sight of Neil’s tan thighs in tiny light green shorts is more than enough incentive for Andrew to make an effort to change that. 

So Andrew does something he’s never done before— agrees to Kevin’s proposition. Cutting Kevin off mid-sentence Andrew says, “Sure. Give me five minutes,” turning around and walking up the kitchen stairs to his apartment without staying behind to hear Kevin’s disbelieving commentary. 

Andrew changes quickly into a black tank and track pants, not giving himself a chance to talk himself out of this. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly agreeing to do HIIT with Kevin when he could be taking the day off to read and practice a new cinnamon bun recipe, but it probably has something to do with the hopeful look in Neil’s eye every time Kevin asks him to join them.

Sighing, Andrew makes his way back down the back stairs, making sure to lock his apartment door behind him. When he arrives back into the kitchen, Neil is snooping around the baking carts, poking at a jar of sourdough starter and laughing when Kevin slaps his hand away.

The last stair creaks under Andrew’s foot and Kevin startles, trying very hard to look like he hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Neil, on the other hand, just covers the starter again and turns to Andrew lazily, eyes zeroing in on Andrew’s exposed arms, which are usually covered by sweatshirts and long sleeves. 

Interesting. 

The three of them make their way down the street, not bothering to drive the few blocks it takes to get to the gym. When they arrive, Wymack greets them at the front desk, raising an eyebrow when he spots Andrew trudging along behind Neil and his son. 

“Finally giving in?” Wymack asks, ruffling through some papers.

“I couldn’t take it anymore, Coach,” Andrew tells him, using the name Wymack prefers. “Your kid could win an award for _most annoying._ ”

Wymack sighs, but it sounds fond, “He doesn’t get that from me, you know.”

Neil laughs, grabbing an extra yoga mat from behind the desk, “Keep telling yourself that, Coach,” he chimes, running towards the studio when Wymack throws a pen at him. 

Kevin trots after Neil, and Andrew follows reluctantly behind him to the studio room. Inside, there is a group of five more people besides Neil, including an insanely tall and muscular woman standing at the front of the room.

Thea raises an eyebrow when she sees Andrew, but doesn’t ask. She’s one of the only people in Palmetto that Andrew respects. 

Thea leads them through stretches and a warm up, and Andrew has to fight extremely hard to keep his eyes away from Neil’s ass as he stretches his legs. 

During their stretches a man rushes into the studio, setting up a mat to Andrew’s left a little bit too close to Andrew’s own. To his right, he hears Neil mutter a worried, “Oh no…”

At the front, Thea is still leading them through a warm-up. “What?” Andrew hisses.

Neil groans. “You’ll see.”

The man to his left clears his throat, and when Andrew gives him a bored look he says, “You’re new here.”

Andrew just stares at him, and he can hear Neil snickering on his other side. 

The man is muscular, with brown swoop-y hair and fair skin; if Neil Josten hadn’t been beside him, perhaps Andrew would have found him attractive. 

The man tries again, “Your arms are massive. What’s your routine?”

“I make bread,” Andrew deadpans.

“Wow,” the man sighs dreamily. Andrew scoffs, turning back to watch Thea instruct them through a set of Russian twists. 

For the rest of the class, Andrew sweats his ass off and tries to ignore the man —apparently his name is Jacob— who is very pointedly flirting with him. 

Thea glares at Jacob whenever he talks too loudly, and it takes twenty minutes and Andrew’s casual threat to remove Jacob’s dick from his body to get him to shut up.

At the end of the class, Andrew is sore in places he’s never been sore before, and Neil is still snickering at the wounded looks Jacob keeps sending Andrew. 

Neil guides Andrew to the locker room while Kevin stays behind in an attempt to woo Thea while she packs up.

After changing his clothes in the shower stall, Neil comes out and tells him, “Jacob flirts with anything that has bigger biceps than him. You should have seen him with Thea the first few classes.”

Andrew hums, pulling on a new shirt and trying not to read into the way Neil’s eyes track the movement. 

Kevin joins them eventually, and he walks with Neil and Andrew back to their shops, where they all go their separate ways. 

~

The day after Andrew had crashed the HIIT class, he struggles particularly hard to get out of bed in the morning when his 5 a.m. alarm sounds. 

His muscles groan and protest as he rolls out dough in ways that even a two-hour weightlifting session couldn’t bring about. 

The bell above the front door rings out, and a moment later, Neil Josten is standing in front of him in his (off-limits) kitchen, smirking at the state Andrew’s currently in. 

“Sore?”

Andrew glares. “I’m not used to abusing my body like you freaks. I lift weights and bake bread.”

Neil smiles at him softly before teasing, “Well _I,_ on the other hand, feel fantastic. Maybe if you keep up with the classes you’ll be able to run in the mornings with me.”

Even the promise of extra Neil-time couldn’t persuade Andrew to run in the mornings. “In your fucking dreams, Josten. I’m never setting foot in that studio again. Thea’s a fucking maniac.”

A soft chuckle, and then Neil is leaning over Andrew’s shoulder, watching him roll out puff pastry dough. “Can I help?” Neil asks. 

“Don’t you have your own shop to tend to?”

Neil moves to Andrew’s side, waving a hand dismissively. “Nobody orders coffee on a Sunday until like 7:30 anyways, which gives you…” Neil checks the time on his phone screen, “two hours to teach me how to bake.”

“Just don’t go making bread and stealing my business. It’s not like it’s my sparkling personality that makes people buy from me.”

Neil frowns but then Andrew is teaching him how to fold puff pastry and measure flour in a way that doesn’t involve just pouring some in a bowl and hoping for the best. 

By the time they have a batch of chocolate croissants in the oven, Neil is covered in flour and laughing, loose and carefree on Andrew’s counter, watching him cut donut dough into circles and put them on a tray to rise. 

Neil slides off the counter shortly after, returning to his own shop and leaving Andrew in a flurry of complicated emotion, half-baked croissants, and flour-covered counters. 

~

Sometimes, after closing up the bakery, Andrew will meander across the street to Neil’s café to play with the cats. He enjoys the firm routine the cats require, the amusing way that Neil herds them into their room while they mew around his ankles and beg for dinner.

In the cat room, Neil has hung a hammock Allison bought him. The cats love it, and it provides a place for humans to sit as well. Andrew likes to swing in it gently and allow the furry bodies to climb over him, the older ones settled on his chest while the kittens mew and struggle with their tiny paws. 

Currently, Andrew is laying just like that, weighed down by fluff and sharp claws, Neil sitting sideways in the hammock between his socked feet, raising one of his newest strays above his head, singing ‘Circle of Life’ from the Lion King. 

“Put her down Josten,” Andrew tells him. 

“AAAAAAAAA ZABENYA,” Neil faux-yells. The kitten mews.

“Her siblings are fearing for her life, Neil.”

“She’s fine,” Neil insists, finally lowering the tiny beast, cradling her to his chest. 

Neil had gotten an influx of cats in the last few months, and they were getting adopted at a record-rate. Neil’s café was often confused for a shelter because of its Yelp status, and Neil was frequently fielding phone calls. 

The latest batch of kittens Andrew had found in the dumpster behind the bakery. He’d brought the three tiny black kittens to Neil’s shop at 2 in the morning, and they’d stayed up all night taking care of them, taking them to the emergency vet and feeding them every hour. 

Andrew had found them, so he’d gotten to name them. 

Currently, Thing One is having a kitten-fight with Thing Three on Andrew’s chest while Neil continues to coo over Thing Two.

Sir mews at the kittens when they disrupt his sleep, and he climbs on top of Andrew’s shoulders without any prompting. 

Andrew wonders how he’s gotten to this point in his life. He thinks that perhaps he likes it.

~

Andrew is unsure of what to do about his feelings. 

It’s not that he doesn’t _have_ feelings —though that would be a much more manageable alternative—it’s that he’s never had _these_ feelings before. 

To put it simply, Andrew doesn’t know what to do about Neil Josten. The man had wormed his way into Andrew’s life. Neil had gotten under his skin so thoroughly and completely that no surgery could ever remove him. Neil had threaded a piece of his yarn through the messy crochet of Andrew’s heart, and no amount of tugging could pull it free without completely unraveling the whole thing. 

Andrew wasn’t stupid. He knew what Neil meant to him; knew what he _wanted_ himself to mean to Neil. The problem is that Neil _is_ stupid, and he seems to be completely oblivious to Andrew’s unsubtle flirtation. 

“You could tell him,” Bee suggests, sipping from her mug of hot chocolate.

Andrew scoffs derisively and Bee offers him a lightly scolding look. “It might go better than you’re thinking it will,” she insists. 

“Or it could go horribly and he will hate me forever,” Andrew replies. 

Bee hums. “You didn’t used to be so cautious. For anything.”

Andrew avoids meeting Bee’s eyes. She’s trying to get him to admit something he doesn’t want to admit. Her years of practicing psychology are often swept under the rug since she’d retired from that over two decades ago to open the bakery, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t come forth in situations like this one. 

Andrew stays silent, and Bee hums again. “You’re afraid of losing him,” she tells him, as if he doesn’t already know that. 

He chances a look across the street. Neil’s shop is closed and the lights are off, but the glow of the Cat Room is just barely visible. If he squints, Andrew can almost see the outline of Neil swinging softly on the hammock, cats piled high on his chest, listening to bouncy Lo-fi on the Bluetooth speaker Andrew had given him. 

“I’m afraid of having him,” Andrew responds, feeling rubbed raw and pink-skinned. Split open and examined, barring the worst of himself for a man who isn’t even here to see it. 

Bee tilts her head to the side, wire-frame glasses crooked on her nose. “Those two things go hand-in-hand, I suppose. Do you still feel the same way? That you don’t deserve him?”

She doesn’t mean it the way that it sounds, but Andrew still feels himself draw back into himself a little bit at the question. Bee gives him an apologetic smile, but she doesn’t correct herself, waiting for his answer. 

“No.” A pause. “I miss the days when you just made me sweets and didn’t interrogate me,” Andrew lies. 

Bee offers him a nostalgic smile, letting the deflection slide and focusing on the answer he’d given her. “I think,” she begins, folding her hands on the table, “that we could go back to the soup analogy.”

“Forget about the goddamned soup, Bee,” Andrew groans, watching Bee’s eyes sparkle. She loves to bring up old jokes.

“Imagine the soup. A bowl of your favorite soup sitting in front of you—broccoli cheddar.” 

Goddamn her. Andrew loves broccoli cheddar. 

Bee smiles knowingly, continuing, “The soup is right there. You want to eat it, of course, so you ask the person who made the soup if you could have some.”

“This is getting weirder by the second, Bee.”

“If the soup-maker tells you that the soup is yours, why would you think that you’re not good enough to enjoy the soup?” Bee’s mouth is curled up in amusement, but her eyes are serious when she says, “That’s the point of all of this, Andrew. For the part about deserving, it’s not about what you think. If Neil says you deserve the soup, it’s not necessarily your place to convince him that you don’t. If he made that soup for you, and he wants you to have it, then you should take the soup, whether you think it’s too good for you or not.”

At Andrew’s silence, Bee brings the mugs to the kitchen and washes them quickly, placing them on the drying rack. She comes back up to their table, puts a gentle hand on Andrew’s shoulder, and he can’t help but lean into her calming touch. “Think about it. You deserve much more than you think, Andrew.”

Bee picks up her purse, touching the bell above the door to keep it from ringing as she opens the door. On her way out, Bee tells him, “Those are mugs from Neil’s shop, by the way. I think he would like it better if you returned them than me.” 

_ Goddamn it, Bee. _

~

When Andrew returns the mugs the next morning, Neil asks him on a date. 

Well, that’s not _exactly_ what he’d asked. Really, Neil had asked him if he wanted to come to his apartment for dinner. Andrew is also fairly certain that Neil had missed all of the implications that come along with asking someone to your apartment for dinner. 

What an oblivious idiot. 

Impending date or not, for the rest of the day, Andrew bakes bread and sits in his kitchen where he can’t see Neil through the window. When there are no customers, he’s mentally shuffling through his closet, trying to think of an outfit that says ‘I want to eat your soup’ without being weird about it. 

Within the span of ten minutes, Andrew finishes a batch of the raspberry cream cheese scones Neil favors, decides that his clothes are simply inadequate for this occasion, calls Renee for advice, and closes his shop an hour early to go shopping. 

Fifteen minutes later, Renee meets him in front of the mall, Allison in tow. At Andrew’s betrayed look, Renee only smiles softly, “Alli knows much more about fashion than I do. I doubt you wanted to show up to your not-date looking like me.” Renee gestures to her outfit, which consists of a baby pink overall dress layered over a white t-shirt. He nods his forgiveness. 

Beside Renee, her girlfriend scoffs derisively. “As if you could tell me there’s a fashion emergency and not expect me to fix it. I’m here to break through your tiny goth heart. We’ll keep the Doc Marten’s though.”

Andrew sighs, resigned, and allows for Renee’s pushy but effective girlfriend to pull him from store to store. After an hour and a half in the mall, Andrew has a whole new outfit Allison refused to let him pay for, which he can admit he appreciates. There were perks to being almost-friends with a rich person. 

After they buy the last item, Allison makes Andrew change into his new outfit in the bathroom so they can see it all put together. It’s an outfit he would’ve never chosen for himself. Ripped faded black jeans that are stylishly loose, unlike his usual skinnies, rolled up above the top of a new pair of white Doc Marten’s boots. Tucked into the jeans is a tight t-shirt in a shade of yellow so light it’s practically cream, which Renee had told him brought out the gold in his eyes. Altogether, it’s much brighter and looser than Andrew’s used to but he likes how he looks in it. He wonders if Neil will like it too. 

Allison whistles when he emerges and Renee claps her hands together excitedly, smile bright on her face. 

“Damn, Minyard,” Allison mutters appreciatively, “You look good when you’re not dressing like a dementor.”

Renee gives her girlfriend an exasperated look, “It looks great on you, Andrew,” she adds. 

Andrew thinks it does too.

~

Five minutes to six, Andrew trudges down the back stairs into the kitchen in his new outfit, relishing in the softness of the t-shirt and the comfortable looseness of the jeans. His new boots are gonna be a bitch to break in, but it’s exciting to Andrew more than anything else. The stark whiteness and shine of them are contrasting against the black jeans and laces, and they squeak slightly every few steps. 

In the kitchen, Andrew gathers up the batch of scones he’d baked earlier, wrapping them in a complicated fold of tin foil instead of wasting a to-go box. 

Scones in hand, Andrew makes his way across the street, letting himself in through the unlocked front door of Neil’s café, locking it behind him. He opens the door to the Cat Room, unsurprised to find Neil curled up on his side in the hammock, a few cats pressed into his stomach and the rest either in the cat tree or poking their tiny noses at a few boxes of steaming take-out in the corner.

Neil opens his eyes when Andrew closes the door behind him, and they widen almost comically when they take in Andrew’s new outfit. He sits up quickly in the hammock, gently settling the disgruntled cats at his side.

“Hey,” Neil says, clearing his throat. “You look nice.”

Andrew could say the same. Neil’s wearing a faded grey sweater despite the heat outside, and a pair of tiny bright purple running shorts. His long tan legs are accentuated by a pair of butter yellow socks that end above his ankle, and his thighs expand as he shifts to sit cross-legged on the hammock. His coils of auburn hair fall across his face and ears and he has a light blush across his cheeks. 

As always, it’s difficult to look at Neil for too long, not unlike staring into the sun. Probably just as hot, too. 

Andrew throws the wrapped scones at him. Neil catches it automatically, unwrapping the foil and smiling when he sees the scones, breaking off a small chunk and sticking it in his mouth, chewing slowly and _groaning_ at the taste. 

Andrew has to close his eyes for a moment after that. It would not do him well to see the look on Neil’s face as he made that sound. Damn scones. 

_ Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. _

Neil rises from the hammock, still smiling at Andrew. He settles the cats on the floor and places a blanket over the hammock so the kittens can’t get stuck in it overnight. Neil gives each of the cats a kiss on the head before heading to the staircase in the back of the room, take out containers in hand. Sir and King follow Andrew through the door purposefully, and Neil turns off the light to the Cat Room, allowing the night light to flick on. 

It’s a practiced procedure. 

For all the times that Andrew’s been to Neil’s café, he’s never actually been in his apartment until now. It’s quite a bit larger than Andrew’s, and it actually looks like it was built to accommodate someone taller than a hobbit. That isn’t a problem for Andrew, but that’s beside the point. 

It’s neat, and there are a few framed photos lining the walls, but aside from those, the couch, and the tiny coffee table, the apartment is sparse at best, empty at worst. There’s a door that leads to a bedroom and one that leads to a bathroom. Sir and King saunter into the living room like they own the place, and King immediately begins climbing a cat tree like her life depends on it. Neil had told Andrew once that she refuses to share with any cat who wasn’t Sir, so all her pent up cat energy was expelled all at once the second she was in her own space. 

Andrew can relate. 

Neil places the take out on the table, rummaging about in some cabinets for plates and forks. They sit on the floor in front of the coffee table, watching some stupid sitcom and talking quietly and easily. After dinner, Neil surprises Andrew by emerging from the kitchen with a bottle of wine.

“I thought you didn’t drink.”

Neil turns the bottle in his hands, considering, “I don’t, usually,” he admits. “I don’t usually feel comfortable enough…” he trails off, setting the bottle on the coffee table, staring intently at his hands before looking back up to Andrew, eyes determined. “I want to try it. I trust you, Andrew.”

_ Fuck,  _ Andrew thinks, watching Neil’s tan hands work as they pour the wine into two coffee mugs. Neil takes the mug to his lips and sips, scrunching his nose up at the taste. 

Things devolve from there. Andrew sticks to his first mug and watches Neil drink his way through several refills until Andrew is standing and putting the remainder of the wine away.

When Andrew returns, Neil is sprawled out and pliant on the couch, Sir and King on his chest, legs parted to allow Andrew to sit between them. Andrew does, turning up the volume of the tv, allowing Neil to rearrange them until he’s leaning against Andrew’s side, head on his shoulder and legs draped across his.

Andrew imagines himself at sixteen years old, lost and wary of every human he crossed paths with. He imagines himself at eighteen, healing but still wary, with a place to sleep and a place to work, but unsure of his place in the world. He sees himself from six months ago, 22 years old and settled completely in his life, convinced things couldn’t get any better for him.

Andrew thinks about where he is now, warm and covered in cat hair with a wine-drunk Neil giggling into his shoulder. 

Neil is humming a sleepy tune, playing with the sprawl of Andrew’s fingers in his lap, and Andrew wonders how different life will be in another year. Will Neil have moved on by then and left Andrew behind? The thought physically pains him. Over the last six months, Neil had become so entwined in Andrew’s life; it feels as though Neil’s been in Palmetto for years rather than months.

There’s no coming back from this. No coming back from Neil Josten. 

Sir climbs onto Andrew’s lap, mewing, and that’s when Andrew realizes that Neil has fallen asleep, a line of warmth leaning into his side, as he breathes tiny sighs against his neck. Andrew allows himself to relax against the arm of the couch and, despite the knowledge that it’ll fuck up his neck, lets the purring and slow breaths lull him to sleep. 

~

The next morning Andrew’s internal clock wakes him up at the first dregs of light, and he tries to stretch before realizing that he’s currently incapacitated. Andrew blinks his eyes open blearily, first focusing them on the two cats in his lap, and then on Neil Josten, who is also just opening his eyes, groaning as he sits up.

Fuck, Andrew’s neck hurts. 

As if sensing that the humans are waking, King jumps out of Andrew’s lap, stretching and yawning before sauntering over to her water bowl. Sir, on the other hand, just flops onto his back in Andrew’s lap, demanding pets. 

Andrew stares at the fluffy grey belly, hearing Neil chuckle at his side. Neil pets Sir’s belly softly for a few minutes until they begin to hear meowing from downstairs and Neil has to go feed the cats, Sir and King trotting along behind him. 

Andrew stretches up from the couch, rolling his neck and rubbing at his shoulders. He can smell coffee brewing from downstairs. After using the bathroom and brushing his teeth with a spare toothbrush Neil had left out for him, Andrew really surveys Neil’s apartment for the first time. He walks up to a wall where a bunch of photos are taped up, examining them closely. 

In one of them, Neil stands next to Matt Boyd, who is leaning on him with an elbow on top of his head. In another, Renee and Allison kiss either one of his cheeks, Dan standing behind him and ruffling his hair. There’s a photo of Kevin holding Cat Kevin, staring into her tiny face scrutinizingly while Neil laughs in the background. The rest of the pictures are void of Neil, and Andrew realizes that Neil must have taken them without his friends' knowledge.

And then there are the photos with Andrew. At the first sight of his own face, Andrew does an embarrassing little double-take that he’s glad nobody is around to see. Andrew doesn’t remember seeing Neil ever take a photo of him, but here they are, proudly displayed on Neil’s wall. 

In one of the photos, Andrew is rolling out some dough in his kitchen, wearing sweatpants and a fluffy purple bathrobe, the windows showing darkness and streetlights. In another, Andrew is looking in the other direction in annoyance, covered in icing sugar and flour. 

Andrew skims his eyes over a few more, feeling his throat close up, but not out of panic. He _should_ be panicked. He should be creeped out that Neil had managed to take these without Andrew’s knowledge, but instead his stomach just feels warm and fluttery with that now-familiar squirming feeling of being known. 

Finally, his eyes move on to the last photo, presumably the most recently taken. It’s a selfie this time, and he and Neil are squeezed into the hammock in the Cat Room, laying down side by side. In the photo, Andrew is asleep with his face shoved into the crook of Neil’s neck, Sir sitting on his other shoulder and a tiny orange kitten on Andrew’s head. Neil’s face is half cut off, but Andrew can see the fond look in his eye and the half-smile on his lips.

Behind Andrew, the door creaks open again and then Neil is beside him. “That one is my favorite,” he says softly, setting down two mugs on the coffee table. “I hope…” Neil pauses. He’s fretting with the fraying sleeves of his sweater, eyes wide and hair sleep-mused still, smelling like coffee and raspberry scones and cat. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I took them. If it makes you uncomfortable I’ll take them down.”

“Neil,” Andrew says quietly, watching his worried eyes snap up to meet his, feeling himself get lost in the piercing blue, feeling seen, feeling found, feeling warmth rush up his spine. 

“Yes?” Neil asks, just as quiet, and suddenly Andrew can’t hold himself together anymore. He feels himself teetering, begging to fall apart in Neil’s hands, fearing that he will only fall through the cracks of his gentle fingers. Andrew chances a glance back at the last photo, hearing Bee’s soft voice in his head. _You deserve much more than you think, Andrew._

Andrew tries to believe that, meeting Neil’s eyes again and seeing the little line of worry between his brows. Neil is everything Andrew never thought he could have, everything he’s ever wanted. Andrew wants to know if he can have him like this, too. “Yes or no?”

Neil tilts his head to the side, questioning, and Andrew swallows his reservoirs, curling a shaking hand in the collar of Neil’s hoodie to pull him closer, watching Neil’s throat work. “Yes or no?” Andrew asks again.

Neil’s blue, blue eyes meet Andrew’s and he closes his eyes for a second when he hears Neil whisper “Yes.”

Andrew pulls him in by his collar, allowing only a whisper of Neil’s mouth against his at first, drinking in Neil’s quiet gasp and then pushing his mouth harder. Andrew keeps the kiss slow, opening his mouth to Neil and relishing in the feeling of a plush lip between his teeth. Neil brings a hand up to Andrew’s hair, hovering it there until Andrew nods into the kiss and then sliding his fingers into it, tugging gently. Andrew’s own hands move down to Neil’s waist, holding gently there until one of them slides up his back and into Neil’s auburn curls. They’re soft and fluffy and frizzy from sleep, and Andrew grips them tightly, feeling emotions he could never put a name to swirling up inside him as Neil kisses him back slowly.

Andrew thinks that even if Neil doesn’t feel the same, it will have been worth it to have this kiss. 

From the way Neil is kissing him though, clutching the back of Andrew’s head to keep him close even when they part for breath, Andrew doesn’t think he’s going to need to worry about that. 

They part for breath, foreheads pressed together, and Neil smiles at him, fingers playing with the thin hair at the nape of Andrew’s neck before he’s pulled into another slow kiss. 

It’s just as slow as the first, but this time it’s somehow deeper— there’s something else behind it that Andrew can’t put a name to, and he feels it like a low vibration down throughout his body. He allows his hands to wander down to Neil’s ass, can’t help but grin against Neil’s mouth when Neil laughs against his. 

It’s soft. It’s the most tender thing Andrew has probably ever taken part in, and he feels as if he’s holding a small flower in his calloused hands, thumb stroking the silken petals as he tries not to clutch it too hard.

A moment later, they’re forced to take another breath, and Neil asks him if he needs to go start baking soon. Andrew takes his hand and walks them toward Neil’s bedroom. He can open the bakery a little late today.

~

The days pass easier after that. Andrew begins to stay at Neil’s apartment more often than his own, and Sir and King have even relinquished their spot on Neil’s second pillow to allow Andrew room to sleep. 

It’s harder to drag himself out of bed in the morning as soon as the sun comes up, now that he wakes up next to Neil. In the mornings after Andrew stays over, they will both wake up with the sun. Neil will go for his run, and Andrew will lay around until Neil returns, sweaty and with coffee in hand. They’ll take showers, sometimes together, sometimes separately, and then they’ll eat cereal in the living room. 

Most of the time, they’ll kiss and get distracted until one of them decides that it’s time to go to work, and then they walk downstairs and part ways to their respective shops.

Andrew likes to rock gently in the Cat Room hammock with Neil in his arms. Neil likes to swing his legs as he watches Andrew bake from his spot on the counter. The cats like it when Andrew feeds them tiny scraps of fresh-baked bread. Matt and Dan are happy that Neil is happy, and Renee and sometimes even Allison tell Andrew that they’re glad to see him so settled. Kevin is still Kevin, so he continues to drag Neil to his HIIT classes, and Andrew still refuses to go back. Bee tells Andrew that she’s proud of him. 

Speaking of Bee, she sits across from Andrew now, sipping hot chocolate from a mug Andrew will bring with him when he goes to Neil’s later. The sun sets over Neil’s coffee shop, and the oranges and pinks wrap around the building like a vinyl, soaking the windows with saturated soft hues that beckon Andrew inside. Beckon him home. 

When Andrew turns to face Bee again, she’s already watching him in that way she does, warm and fond and safe. Andrew takes a sip from his mug. “Aaron is coming in next week,” he tells her.

“I know,” Bee smiles. “He told me that he’s bringing Katelyn. Are you looking forward to meeting her?”

“Probably just as much as he’s looking forward to meeting Neil,” Andrew replies. The reality is that Andrew is glad that his brother seems to have found true love in that dreary medical school he attends, and Bee seems to know that because she doesn’t try to get him to admit it. 

“Things are good with Neil then? Have you finally told Nicky about him?”

“Just as good as when you asked last week,” Andrew teases, and Bee rolls her eyes at him in a rare sign of exasperation. “And no,” Andrew continues. “Nicky will find out when I invite him to the wedding, and no sooner than that.”

“Wedding?” Bee’s voice is teasing, but her eyes are proud, and they shine slightly. 

It’s Andrew’s turn to roll his eyes before sobering. “At some point, I think.”

“That’s a very big step for you to admit that, Andrew,” Bee tells him. 

Andrew knows. It’s been about four months since they had first kissed, and since then Bee had witnessed many a metaphorical breakdown on Andrew’s part. Even now, Andrew has days when he can’t handle the fact that Neil wants him. Every day Andrew can’t believe that he gets to have him. 

Bee seems to read his mind then. “Speaking of big steps, when’s the last time we talked about the soup?”

“Jesus Christ, Bee,” Andrew huffs, “not long enough ago.”

“It’s safe to say that you’ve… eaten… the soup,” Bee prevails. “How are you feeling about it now?”

“How am I feeling about the consumed soup?” Andrew asks, humoring her.

Bee nods, draining the last sip of her hot chocolate and folding her hands in from of her after she sets it down. “Do you feel… guilty for eating the soup? Satisfied?”

Andrew considers. “Not guilty,” he begins, “more like I’m savoring it. I don’t think the soup is gone yet.”

Bee smiles. “Not guilty is what I was hoping for. I wish you an endless supply of soup.”

They’re silent for a few moments as Andrew finishes off his mug. Across the street, Andrew watches Neil switch on the neon _closed_ sign, watches him go to lock the door before turning away towards the Cat Room, leaving it unlocked for Andrew. 

Across from him, Bee asks, “Do you still think that you don’t deserve him?”

“I don’t think anyone deserves him,” Andrew responds easily. “But… I don’t think that I deserve him less than other people.”

“And does Neil think you deserve him?”

Andrew scoffs. “Neil is an idiot. Yes.”

“That’s good to hear then.” A pause, and Bee’s face turns sincere once again, “I’m proud of you, Andrew. I’m glad that you are happy.”

Andrew’s eyes wander back over to Neil’s shop. The sun has gone down completely now, and the streetlights wash a faded yellow hue over the building, making it difficult to see past the glare in the window. Andrew watches as Neil exits the Cat Room with Sir perched on his shoulder, Bluetooth speaker in hand as he sways his hips to the song and rummages around behind the coffee bar, presumably making himself some tea. 

Just as they had the first day Neil had noticed him staring, his eyes snap up to meet Andrew’s, a smile gracing his face. He raises his hand in a wave, and then, after some thought, raises one of Sir’s little paws in a mock-wave as well. Andrew scoffs, shaking his head at Neil’s antics, but on the inside, he feels soft and mushy and warm.

Neil points upstairs to let Andrew know that he will be waiting for him up there, and then at the door to let him know that it remains unlocked, and Andrew nods. Neil blows him a dramatic kiss, shutting off the light and then disappearing from view. 

“Yeah,” Andrew tells Bee, watching the upstairs light flick on as his boyfriend gets ready for bed. Andrew turns back to Bee, allowing himself a small grin at the thought of Neil waiting for him to come home. “I’m glad that I’m happy too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated, if you feel like it :)
> 
> [Twitter is 5a5b5p5 ](https://mobile.twitter.com/5a5b5p5)  
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